As political insults go, it was simply the best. Ann Widdecombe's remark that Michael Howard had "something of the night" about him, made after the two fell out during a Home Office row about prisons, just seemed to hit the spot - and appeared, back in 1997, to have killed off his political career.

Now, however, she is apparently giving him her ringing endorsement. If even Widdecombe can support him to be the next Tory leader, then no wonder Howard is facing such an easy run.

It is clear though, within a couple of minutes of meeting Widdecombe, that the endorsement is far from ringing. Firstly, she is not going to pretend that she wanted last week's coup: "I wish it hadn't happened. I really wish it hadn't happened." Then, she would have loved Kenneth Clarke to stand, and regards it as "so frustrating" that he refused to make the accommodations with the party over Europe that would have allowed him to be its leader - "that guy would have won twice over," she says.

But he hasn't. So now she will fall into line. "I didn't vote for William, I didn't vote for Iain in the first selection, I didn't vote for John Major," she says. "Now, there has never been a time when, having lost, I haven't then given whoever won 200% of my loyalty. That's what I've done and that is what I will do this time. I don't deny it is somewhat more difficult; but it can still be done."

Yet she will not apologise for the past. "I've made it very clear that I don't retract a single world or, indeed, a single syllable of anything I said in 1997. But that was '97; this is 2003. That was a quarrel; this is not going to be a feud."

Would she like to be asked back on to a new, inclusive, Tory frontbench? She says this would mean a "balance of duty" - she has an elderly mother - and "I would have to feel that there was something which I could usefully do that others would be unlikely to do as well... I can support him just as well from the outside."

Besides, she adds: "If your profession goes to him and says, 'Ann says she'll come back if you invite her,' where does that leave him, poor fellow? I think he should have a completely free hand."

None of this necessarily means she will give Howard an easy ride. Of his first resonant promise as leader-in-waiting - to lead the party from the centre - she says: "It doesn't mean anything at all... It's not a phrase I'd ever use. I think what you've got to do is decide what your policies are and stick with them."

She doesn't expect his centrist talk to last long. She wants his famous determination to be fixed on policy, and "not anything too wishy-washy from 'the centre', please." She hopes he will be a listening leader, but snorts: "Influencing Michael Howard is a very difficult thing to do."

She gives him credit for the past few years. "First of all he has stayed very grittily on the frontbench when... the rest of us moved off.

"Secondly, he has landed blows on Gordon Brown, which neither of his predecessors did. Thirdly, he has been remarkably loyal to whoever was the leader of the party, and therefore he is more than entitled to claim loyalty in return.

"So I think he has a lot going for him; but what he's now got to do is to move the party as quickly as he's moved himself. I mean, he's gone from being the last in both the constituency poll and the MPs' poll, to being a coronation candidate, and that's a remarkable move; and now he's got to move the Conservative party in a similar way up the scale."

What of the argument that he is only a caretaker leader, who will hand over after the inevitable defeat at the next election?

"Don't agree... I expect Michael to take us to victory. If he doesn't and we make vast gains, then I would expect him to reap the reward of that and stay on."

She does think the Tories are about to be rescued; partly because they now have better policies, partly because the only way can be up. "I really do sense that everybody is saying, this is it, you know, this is absolutely it - this is the lowest we can go."

These days, Widdecombe undoubtedly presents a softer, gentler image. Her hair is famously blonde, and she wears a large alice band. The latter has been endlessly discussed by commentators and, she says, "is there for a very practical reason that I'm growing the darn thing. I'm trying to keep the fringe back".

She adds: "The going fair was terribly simple. My natural colour is now white." She had been dyeing her hair dark, but journalists had been looking down at her from the press gallery in the Commons and noticed her roots. "I was getting all these comments about zebra crossings, so I thought it would be easier to handle fair."

She finds the commentary about her appearance both amusing and bemusing, but refuses to find mutual support with women politicians, saying she prefers the company of men - "they're much less emotionally demanding, for a start".

Surprisingly, Widdecombe says she identifies with 70s feminism - "Very straightforward. It was, 'Give us the equal opportunities and we'll show you we're as good, if not better than, the men, and all we want is the opportunity to compete on equal terms'." But the feminism of the 90s and beyond was "a big whinge: 'Oh, we can't do it, we need positive discrimination, we need women-only railway carriages, we need that, we need the other' - absolute old tosh".

That sounds like the traditional Widdecombe. Yet the overall effect today is far more complex than her image while in office. Like other ex-frontbenchers, including Iain Duncan Smith, she has partly reinvented herself through writing. She is bringing out a third novel; the other two had good reviews and sold well.

But, she says, "the day job is the prime purpose of my life: I am first and foremost a politician".

She is running a campaign for Gurkhas to be allowed better access to their families. The subject provokes a characteristic blast on asylum seekers: "I think it's gross, absolutely gross. I mean, you can come unlawfully into this country in the back of a lorry, it can be established that you have no claim whatever to be fleeing persecution, and you can still end up living here; but if you've actually served the British army and put your life at risk for 15 years, that doesn't count for anything." Extraordinary, I say. She quickly rebukes me: "It's iniquitous, not extraordinary."

Ann Widdecombe's image might have become softer, but she hasn't. I ask about Theresa May's argument that the Tories need to be less "nasty". Does she agree?

"No. No. It made me angry. It made me very angry. I don't think we ever were the nasty party." If the Tories were so wrong, she asks, "how come Blair's following our agenda? How come Blunkett's adopting half our policies? Come on folks, we're a darn good party".